


Life with Sherlock

by warblegarble



Series: Lost and Found [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Mind Meld, Out of Character, Psychic Bond, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Telepathic Bond, Telepathy, feeling!sherlock, observant!John, sharing of abilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 03:05:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warblegarble/pseuds/warblegarble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock's continued life together as they take on the case of a killer who can seemingly walk through walls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sebastian

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back to the Lost and Found universe!

Life with Sherlock was interesting, to say the least. Therefore, I was less than surprised when I felt the anxiety/adrenaline/anger that I generally associated with a fight. I was in line at Tesco and had only left Sherlock 10 minutes ago. How he managed to get into a fight in that short of time baffled me. I rolled my eyes and finished up paying for the groceries.

When I returned to 221 B Baker Street, Sherlock was calmly sitting in an armchair, my laptop on his knees. I put the bags in the kitchen and walked out to him.

“You don’t do nonchalant well, Sherlock.”

He gave me a confused look that I knew was fake. I just responded my sticking my foot under his chair and sliding out the 5 foot katana that Sherlock had tried to hide. I looked up to find him mildly sulking.

I rolled my eyes at him. “I felt you fighting while I was at Tesco.” I tapped my fingers to my temple. Three weeks of sharing a bed had significantly strengthened our bond and our emotions ran freely across it.

Sherlock just huffed and I set about unpacking the groceries. I considered taking back my computer, but I had already learned that Sherlock could hack any password I created and was generally too lazy to go get his own computer from across the room. A cloud of warmth/sugar/cream floated through the bond and I chuckled and set the kettle to boil. Sherlock was ever experimenting with the bond and stretching our boundaries. I found that I quite enjoyed it.

I handed Sherlock his tea and settled into the chair next to his. “So I’m thinking about getting a job.”

Sherlock eyed me over the rim of his mug. “Why?”

“I can’t just sit here and help you with cases. I also can’t mooch off your money, regardless of the fact that we are mated.”

An edge of panic floated through the bond. “Am I boring you?”

I set my cup down and laid my hand on Sherlock’s knee. “Sherlock, I don’t think it is possible for you to be boring to anyone. I just want to get out of the flat and do something on my own.”

Sherlock nodded and glanced down at the computer screen. “I need to go to the bank.”

\--00—00—0—0—00—00—00—00—00—00—00—00—00—00—00—00—00—00—00—00

I couldn’t help at be distracted by the metal monstrosity that was Shad Sanderson Bank as Sherlock lead us towards it. But I wasn’t distracted enough to not notice the undercurrent of tension emanating from Sherlock.

“Why are you so anxious?” I asked him as we entered the building and got on the escalators that would take us to the front desk.

Sherlock looked over at me. “You’ll see.”

We were whisked into an elevator, up at least 20 stories, and deposited into a posh office on a trading floor. The sign outside the door said ‘Sebastian Wilkes, Director of the Trading Floor.’ An assistant offered us beverages, but we both declined.

A man with floppy hair that screamed ‘Eton’ strode into the room. I hated him already. “Sherlock Holmes!”

“Seb,” Sherlock replied. I could feel disdain mix with the anxiety.

“How are you, buddy? How long’s it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?” The man eyed me. “Who’s this?”

“This is John Watson, my mate.”

Sebastian’s eyes popped in surprise, then he recovered and shook my hand roughly, practically crushing it. “I never thought I’d see the day that Sherlock Holmes would find his mate. Please grab a pew.”

We sat as Sebastian rounded his desk to do the same. I noticed that he had concealer on his left ring finger that didn’t quite hide the faded completed bonding mark. I felt a surge of happiness at this. I saw Sherlock smirk to my right.

“You’ve been doing well. Spending lots of time abroad,” Sherlock quipped, relaxing in the chair. “Flying all the way ‘round the world. Twice in a month!”

Sebastian pointed a pen at Sherlock, a slightly ugly smile on his face. “You’re doing that thing.” He glanced at me. “Sherlock and I were at Uni together, and this guy here – he had this trick he used to do.”

Sherlock bristled. “It’s not a trick.”

“He could look at you and tell you your whole life story. Put the wind up everyone. We hated him.”

I bristled, but Sherlock put his hand on my knee and sent me comforting thoughts.

Sebastian seemed not to notice. “You’d come to breakfast in the formal hall and this freak – he’d know who you’d been shagging the previous night.”

Sherlock’s hand covered mine. The instant our skin touched, I saw what had to be one of Sherlock’s memories appear behind my eyes. It was as if a camera were taking in the scene from the side. A pale curly-haired man sat hunched over his toast as a group of guys threw apples at his head from across the cafeteria. Sherlock ignored them.

I came out of the memory just as Sherlock said, “I simply observed.”

Sebastian looked like he wanted to say something, but I cut him off. “You asked us here for a reason.”

Sebastian sent a mild glare in my direction, but got back on track. “I’m glad you could make it over, Sherlock. We’ve had a break-in.”

Sebastian led us down the hall to an empty office. “Sir William’s office, the bank’s former chairman. His room has been left here as a sort of memorial. Someone broke in late last night.”

“What did they steal?” I asked.

Sebastian turned to give me a strange look. “Nothing. They just left a little message.”

He held his ID up to the reader, and the door opened to admit us. Inside we found a portrait of Sir William himself, hanging behind a desk. A yellow line of spray paint covered the picture’s eyes. An accompanying line with a strange symbol below it was to the left of the painting. Nothing else seemed out of place in the office.

Sebastian led us back to his office and pulled up a video file on his computer. It was security footage of the office from the night before. At the timestamp of 23:33, the office looked normal. At the timestamp 23:34, however, the paint was visible.

“60 seconds apart,” said Sebastian as he played the footage. “So, someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed some paint around, and left within a minute.”

“How many ways into that office?” Sherlock indicated the office on the screen.

Sebastian smirked. “Well, that’s where things get interesting.”

Sherlock and I followed him to the elevator and down to the lobby to the front desk. “Every door that opens in this bank, it gets logged right here. Every walk-in cupboard, every toilet.”

“That door didn’t open last night?”

Sebastian sighed. “There’s a hole in our security. Find it and we’ll pay you. Five figures.” He pulled out a cheque. “This is an advance. Tell me how he got in, and there’s a bigger one on its way.”

Sherlock glared. “I don’t need an incentive, Sebastian.” He walked off.

Sebastian turned to hand me the cheque. I just crossed my arms over my chest. “I’ll only take this if you promise to apologize to Sherlock for how shitty you treated him in Uni.”

The man looked outraged, but I just tapped my temple. “The bond shows all.”

Sebastian grumbled. “Fine.”

I took the cheque, tucked it into my pocket, and headed back upstairs.

I found Sherlock bobbing and weaving through the pillars and desks on the trading floor, occasionally ducking down and popping back up again like a demented gopher. I just laughed. I saw Sherlock smirk from across the room before he beckoned me over.

“Auditioning to be a ballerina?” I asked as I approached him.

Sherlock smiled. “Actually, I was just—“

“I know exactly what you were doing. You were trying to see who the message was for by seeing how far you could see the paint from across the floor.”

Sherlock pecked me on the lips, then held up a name plate that said ‘Edward Van Coon, Hong Kong Desk Head’. “This man’s office is one of the few places you could see the paint. Plus, he trades with Hong Kong. He would have been here at 11:34 last night when the message was left.”

“So we find this man and we find who sent the message?”

Sherlock nodded. “There’s not very many Van Coons in the phone book are there? Let’s pay him a visit.”

 


	2. Mysteries and Old Friends

Sherlock pressed the buzzer labeled ‘Van Coon’ at an apartment building several streets away. There was no response.

“So what now, we sit here and wait for him to come back?” I asked.

Sherlock shook his head. “The apartment above Van Coon’s just moved in; new label.” He pushed the button.

A woman answered. “Hello?”

Sherlock adopted a fake nice voice. I rolled my eyes. “Um, hi. I live in the flat just below you. I don’t think we’ve met.”

“No, well I’ve just moved in.”

“Actually, I’ve just locked my keys in my flat.”

“Do you want me to buzz you in?” the woman offered.

“Yeah, and can I use your balcony?”

The woman reluctantly buzzed Sherlock in, and I waited outside to be let in. Ten minutes later, however, I was still standing on the doorstep of this apartment building. I buzzed Van Coon’s apartment several times, then pressed the PA button. “Sherlock! Any time you feel like letting me in!”

Sherlock appeared several minutes later, looking sour. “Suspect is dead. Had to call the Yard.”

We sat outside until the Yarders arrived and let us back in the building. Sherlock prowled around the apartment as people photographed and tagged evidence.

Eddie Van Coon lay on his back in bed, completely dressed, with a gunshot wound to the right temple. A gun lay on the man’s right. I fought the urge to close the man’s open eyes by examining the room.

Sherlock was crouched beside an open suitcase on the floor. “Been away three days, judging by the laundry.” He pointed to a dent in the pile of clothes. “Something was tightly packed in here.”

“So where is it?” I asked.

Sherlock shrugged and stood to check the body. “No clue.”

He checked the man’s pockets. “Why resort to graffiti to contact Van Coon? Why not just email him?”

“Maybe he wasn’t answering.”

Sherlock fished a black piece of folded paper out of the man’s mouth. On further inspection, I realized it was an origami flower. “Van Coon was being threatened.”

Sherlock dropped the paper into an evidence bag just as a man rounded the corner into the room. “Ah, Sergeant, I don’t believe we have met.” He held out his free hand.

The man just put his hands on his hips. “Yeah, I know who you are, and I’d prefer it if you didn’t tamper with any of the evidence.”

I felt Sherlock’s confusion/anger, but he handed over the evidence bag. “I phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?”

“He’s busy. His daughter has the flu. I’m in charge. And it’s not Sergeant, its Detective Inspector. Dimmock.”

Sherlock glanced back at me, a surprised look on his face. We followed Dimmock out into the living room. “We’re obviously looking at a suicide,” Dimmock said. “It’s the only explanation of all the facts.”

“No,” I replied. “It’s one possible explanation of some of the facts.”

Sherlock smiled. “Correct, John. Detective Inspector, you’ve got a solution that you like, but you’re choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn’t comply with it.”

Dimmock glared. “Like?”

I jumped in. “The wound’s on the right side of the head.”

Dimmock turned his glare to me. “So?”

“Van Coon was left handed. You can tell by looking around his apartment. Looks like mine when I lived alone. It would require quite a bit of contortion for a left-handed man to shoot himself in the right temple.”

“Conclusion: someone broke in here and murdered him. Only conclusion of all of the facts.” Sherlock looked smug.

“But the gun…”

“He was waiting for his killer,” Sherlock said. “He’d been threatened at the bank he worked at. He fired a shot when the attacker came in. It went out the open window. Check the ballistics report. The gun in the room wasn’t the gun that killed Van Coon.”

“But the bedroom door was locked from the inside. So how did the killer get in?”

Sherlock pulled on his coat and scarf. “Good, you’re asking the right questions.”

We headed outside and hailed a cab. Sherlock typed away at his phone as we rode. His phone buzzed and I felt a surge of exasperation through the bond. I looked up to see him glaring at his phone.

“I’ve just texted Sebastian to tell him about Van Coon’s murder. Apparently he’s been told by his boss that Van Coon committed suicide.”

I just settled my head in the hollow of Sherlock’s shoulder and set comforting thoughts.

00—00—00—00—00—00—00—00—00—00—00—00—00—00—00—00—00—00—00—00—00—00

                I left a still sleeping Sherlock the next morning to walk several blocks to the local surgery. I informed the receptionist that I was applying for a job and she led me back to an office to wait for the boss. Several minutes later a willowy brunette walked through the door.

                “John Watson! I haven’t seen you in ages!”

I jumped up to hug the woman. “Sarah Sawyer! I had no idea that you had gone into the medical field.”

“Yeah, I started school right after you left for Afghanistan. I’m glad to see that you arrived home in one piece. How is Harry?”

I settled back into my chair. “She’s…alright, I suppose. She bonded several years ago, but her alcoholism broke them up and faded the bond.”

Sarah shook her head sadly. “I knew that Harry would have an alcohol problem from the first drink she had at our secondary school graduation party. It’s too bad that she would waste such a precious thing as a bond on booze.”

I just shrugged.

“So what brings you in here, John?”

I handed her my resume. “I’m trying to find a job.”

She skimmed over the papers. “Might be a bit mundane for you.”

I snorted. “Mundane is good. I have enough excitement in my life.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow.

“My mate is a detective. Our lives are never boring.”

“Oh, congratulations! How long have you been bonded?”

“Almost four weeks. And working here would be perfect.”

“Well, we have several openings. Anything you’d specifically like to do?”

“I was hoping to get back into male obstetrics. I was considering opening my open practice before the army derailed that.”

“Arthur just left for paternity leave, so you can have his position. Welcome aboard.”

 


	3. The Second Cipher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long hiatus. I had a death in the family, and then I got caught up in school. I got to the point where I didn't feel like writing at all. But now I am back. I can't promise regular chapters, but I shall try my best.   
> ~Stef

I came home to Sherlock staring at the printed out pictures of the symbols, which were stuck up by the mirror above the fireplace.

“John, toss me a pen.”

I hung my coat up and threw a pen over my shoulder, knowing full well that Sherlock would catch it.  It was an aspect of our bond that Sherlock had accidentally discovered. He spent that whole evening randomly throwing objects at me. I caught every single one.

He nodded in towards my laptop, which was sitting next to him. “Here, take a look.”

I glanced at the pulled up article. “’The intruder who can walk through walls.’”

Sherlock nodded. “Happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat. Doors locked, windows bolted from inside. Exactly like Van Coon.”

My stomach dropped. “He’s killed another one.”

 

An hour of arguing with Dimmock later, I find myself watching the DI begrudgingly unlock the apartment of Bryan Lukis. It had taken a lot to convince Dimmock that Lukis’s death might be related to Van Coon’s. It had taken Sherlock threatening to call in Greg that had finally gotten Dimmock to agree. I smirked at the memory. The threat had been pure bluff. Greg’s go-to babysitter, Martha Hudson, was on holiday in Cornwall, so Greg had no choice but to stay home with Darcy. But Dimmock didn’t need to know that.

I watched Sherlock bound up the flat’s stairs, pausing briefly to glance at the piles of mail and books that lined the edges of it. The flat was a mess: papers everywhere, dirty dishes stacked on the formica, and soiled clothing littered the floor. Lukis had been a freelance journalist who was often in China. It seemed that he spent more time there than in his own flat.

Sherlock peeked out one of the windows, smiling to himself. “Four floors up. That’s why they think their safe: put a chain across the door, bolt it shut, think they’re impregnable. They don’t think for one second that there’s another way in.”

Dimmock looked at Sherlock, clearly confused and annoyed. “I don’t understand.”

“We’re dealing with a killer who can climb,” I realized out loud.

Sherlock shot a grin back towards me as he walked into Lukis’s hallway, stopping at an angled window. He began to open it. “He clings to the walls like an insect. That’s how he got in.”

“What?”

“He climbed up the sides of the walls, ran along the roof, and dropped in through this skylight.”

Dimmock rolled his eyes. “You’re not serious. Like Spiderman?”

Sherlock looked momentarily confused at the reference, and I quickly whispered in his ear. He nodded slightly.

I turned back to Dimmock. “He scaled six floors of a Docklands apartment building and jumped the balcony to kill Van Coon.”

Dimmock scoffed. “Ok, hold on-“

“And of course that’s how he got into the bank. He ran along the window ledge and onto the terrace,” Sherlock finished. “We need to find out what connects these two men.”

I glanced around, peering down the stairs. One book stood out from the rest of the mess. Unlike the rest of the books, this one was in good shape and free of dust. I walked down a few steps to pick it up. There was a stamp that proclaimed ‘West Kensington Library’ on the cover. I held it up for Sherlock’s inspection. He pecked me lightly on the lips and we headed off.

 

The West Kensington Library was a rather large building, so I followed Sherlock has he weaved through the numerous shelves.

“The date stamped on the book is the same day he died.” Sherlock muttered, searching for the book’s usual resting place. He found it and began searching around the area.

I peered at the bookshelf opposite and saw a familiar stripe of yellow.

“Sherlock.”

I pointed at the stripe and together we removed the books on that shelf. Behind the books was the same cipher as the one in the bank.


	4. Realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay update! Sorry it took me forever. I had the last part of this chapter written in my head a long time ago. The beginning was giving me fits, though. I hope to have the next chapter up in the next week. Fingers crossed. Please give me any feedback or comments. I like hearing that people are reading and enjoying my work.

I felt it even before he stood to grab his coat: that excitement/adventure/determination that went along with Sherlock leaving the flat to go search for a lead. His coat hung by the door, so I stepped in his path, folding my arms.

“No.”

Confusion floated through the bond. “No?”

I nodded. “No. We’ve been out all day and we’ve hardly had a chance to sit and relax. I know that you haven’t eaten anything today. So, no, you and I are not going anywhere until tomorrow.”

Sherlock muttered something that sounded like ‘transport’ and tried to walk around me. I stepped in front of him again. “Sherlock, you might treat your body like its just transport, but what about me? Have you deleted how bonds work? If you don’t eat, then the bond forces me to shoulder your hunger. So right now I am dealing with both of our hungers and our tiredness, and it’s starting to make me a tad nauseous. You can text whomever you were planning on going to see, but you are not leaving this flat.”

Sherlock sulked his way to the couch, but I could feel the guilt through the bond. I sighed as I set some water to boil for pasta and fished a jar of tomato sauce out of the cabinet. I glanced over at the couch after I had put spaghetti in the boiling water. Sherlock was texting away on his phone, but he sent a small smile my way as he felt my gaze.

“So who were you planning to go see?” I asked, setting a plate of pasta in front of Sherlock. I plopped into my chair.

“Local graffiti artist. Goes by the name of Raz. I was hoping he could tell me what brand of paint was used in the cipher. I texted him a picture.”

“Hmm. Think he’ll know?”

Sherlock shrugged, digging into his food. “I guess we’ll find out in the morning.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Sherlock and I went our separate ways to try to find a connection between Lukis and Van Coon. Sherlock went by the Yard to pick up Van Coon’s daytimer, while I went by Lukis’s office to pick up his. Sherlock had suggested that we go everywhere that the victims had to see if we found any clues.  

I meandered through London, tracing Lukis’s seemingly erratic path through the day.  The strangest part of Lukis’s day was that he took the train the short distance from his office to Picadilly station. Lukis could have easily walked, so he must have had something heavy with him.

I was almost to the next place on Lukis’s daytimer when I felt that Sherlock was close. I had been monitoring him all day, but I could tell that he was in the area. Sure enough, I looked up to find Sherlock walking directly towards me, his head bent towards the phone in his hand. He almost ran straight into me, but I grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the line of pedestrian traffic.

“For a consulting detective, you can be very unaware sometimes,” I said, pecking him on the cheek.

Sherlock smiled, his body radiating frantic energy. “Eddie Van Coon brought a package here the day he died: whatever was hidden inside that case. I’ve managed to piece together a picture using scraps of information – credit card bills, receipts. He flew back from China and then came here. Somewhere on this street…”

“You mean over there?” I pointed to a shop across the street, its windows full of Lucky Cats.

“How can you tell?”

I held up Lukis’s journal. “Lukis came here the day he died. He wrote down the address.”

We headed across the street into the shop. An old woman stood behind the counter, surveying a shop full of lucky cats, Chinese tea sets, and bamboo shoots.

“Hello,” I said.

“You want lucky cat?” She asked, brandishing said cat.

I shook my head. “No thanks, no.”

“Ten pound, ten pound! I think your mate, she will like.”

I glanced at Sherlock, and we snickered.

I picked up a teacup, and spotted something on the bottom.

“Sherlock, over here.”

Sherlock wandered over from his inspection of a Chinese soldier statue.

I held out the cup, bottom up. “That label there. It’s the same as the cipher.”

Sherlock nodded, and we headed out of the shop before the old woman got suspicious. We walked a ways before he stopped at a street stall. “It’s an ancient number system: Hang Zhou. These days only street traders use it. Those were numbers written on the wall of the bank and at the library. Number written in an ancient Chinese dialect.”

He held up a fortune cookie from the stall, which had both Hang Zhou and English numbers of the bottom of it. “That number at the bank was a 15.”

I grabbed a bag of greens. “And that blindfold with a horizontal line, that was a 1.”

Sherlock grinned. “We’ve found it.”

We headed to the café across the street. I ordered a plate for us to share while Sherlock made notes on a napkin.

“Two men come back from China. Both head straight for the Lucky Cat Emporium. What did they see Sherlock?”

Sherlock shoved the notes into his coat. “It’s not what they saw. It’s what they both brought back in those suitcases.”

The food arrived and I shoved a fork at Sherlock, who glared but took it. “You think they were smugglers?”

Sherlock swallowed a piece of tomato. “It would have been perfect for Van Coon. A businessman making frequent trips to Asia. Lukis was the same; a journalist writing about China. Both of them smuggled stuff out. The Lucky Cat was their drop-off.”

“So why did they die? If they both turned up at the shop and delivered the goods, why would someone threaten them and kill them? After the event, after they finished the job.” I chewed, mulling it over. Then it struck me. “What if one of them got light-fingered?”

Sherlock nodded. “And the killer doesn’t know who took it, so he threatens them both.”

We ate in silence for a few minutes, Sherlock staring out the window.

"Did you hear back from Raz?"

Sherlock nodded. "He said that he'll keep an eye out for any markings from the same paint."

I nodded.

“Remind me, when was the last time it rained?”

Before I could reply, Sherlock was up and out the door. Biting back a curse, I threw a couple pounds on the table and hurried across the street where Sherlock was crouched, examining a Yellow Pages. It was damp.

Sherlock straightened. “It’s been here since Monday.”

He rang the bell of the apartment, which belonged to a Soo Lin Yao, according to the nameplate. Unsurprisingly, there was no answer.

Sherlock headed down the alley next to the building. “No one’s been in that flat for at least three days.”

I shrugged. “So they went on holiday?”

Sherlock pointed up. “Do you leave your window open while you’re on holiday? I hope not. I’d rather someone not steal my skull.”

He jumped up and managed to grab the lowest rungs of the fire escape ladder, which lead straight for said window. Sherlock was up the ladder in a flash, leaving me on the ground as the ladder went back up out of my reach. God, I hated being short.

“Keep watch, John. I shouldn’t be long.”

Grumbling, I headed back to the front door. I heard Sherlock speaking to me, but even with the mail slot open, I couldn’t hear his words clearly. I rang the bell in the hopes that he’d let me in, but he ignored me. I could feel his curiosity, his frustration, and then the moment of some sort of realization.

I sensed a moment a panic from Sherlock seconds before someone grabbed me from behind, choking me. I clawed at my throat, trying to dislodge my assailant, but I found no one there. My heart sank. Someone was strangling Sherlock! In a hypoxic haze, I began banging on the door, hoping to startle off the person. My world went grey and I locked my knees to remain standing. But it was no use. As I fell into the darkness, I heard shout my way and hoped that it was help.


	5. The Missing Tea Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! Another chapter up, and within good time. Please continue to comment and bookmark and subscribe and etc. etc. 
> 
> PS - I put some new 'rules' from the Lost and Found Universe down in the bottom notes. I will add them to the "Rules of the Lost and Found AU" when I get a chance. 
> 
> ~Stef

I woke to a horrible headache and fingers gently carding through my hair. I cracked my eyes open to see Sherlock sitting at my head on the sofa of our flat. A nasal cannula in his nose snaked its way down to the oxygen tank on the floor. I could feel a matching one in my nose.

I reached up to touch the livid bruise on Sherlock’s neck. “Strangled with your own scarf?” I croaked out.

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond, but Mycroft materialized in the corner of my vision. “Dear brother, the doctor said no talking for several hours. On the other hand, John, you are free to talk but not to get up.”

Sherlock glared at Mycroft, but Mycroft ignored him, settling into a chair across the room and resting his hands on his 16 week pregnancy bump.

“What happened?” I asked, after taking a sip from the water glass Sherlock passed me.

“What happened was that my brother was reckless and caught himself unawares in a missing girl’s apartment. Someone else was looking for the girl, and had not left before Sherlock broke in. That person strangled Sherlock into unconsciousness and left before he awoke.”

“What happened to me?”

“Due to the bond, you experienced the feeling of being strangled. I happened to be in the area and saw you in distress and came to help. Unfortunately, I was unable to catch you before you fainted head-first onto the concrete. The doctor I have on staff says that you have a minor concussion as well as mild hypoxia. He prescribed oxygen therapy and rest.”

“And Sherlock?”

“Mild hypoxia, bruising on his neck, and pain when speaking and swallowing.” Mycroft stood, brushing invisible lint off his suit jacket. “As much as I enjoy babysitting you too, I must get back to work.”

Mycroft was almost to the door, when he spoke again. “Oh, and John? The doctor says that the…issue with the bond should resolve itself once you bond completely. Good day.”

I could not help but blush as Mycroft left. I pushed myself into a sitting position. My head throbbed, but otherwise I felt ok. I gently touched the ligature marks on Sherlock’s throat. “Would some tea help your throat?”

Sherlock nodded. I slipped the oxygen off my face and made my way to the kitchen, setting the kettle to boil. “Since you’ve lost your speaking privileges, perhaps you should write down everything you found in the apartment?”

Sherlock mouthed ‘obvious’, but grabbed my laptop off the table and began typing. I finished the tea and brought it over just as he was finishing up.

“Why can’t you use your own bloody laptop?”

Sherlock shrugged, smirking. He pointed to the notes he had made. I read them aloud. “Girl gone for several days, but given that someone else was in her apartment, it is probable that she ran. Intruder was short, had size 8 feet, probably our acrobat. Also envelope.”

Sherlock held up a folded envelope. It said ‘Soo Lin, please ring me tell me you’re ok. Andy.’ I flipped it over and found that it was from the National Antiquities Museum. “Our next stop?”

Sherlock nodded, but closed his eyes. I could feel his exhaustion through the bond.

“Nap first?” I asked.

Sherlock smiled and I helped him to bed, dragging the oxygen tank with us. I climbed in as well, spooning him from behind. Contentment mingled with the sleepiness and pain. After setting an alarm for 7pm, I cuddled up to Sherlock for a 2 hour nap.

Two and a half hours later, Sherlock and I found ourselves in the main lobby of the National Antiquities Museum. A stop at the main desk had us heading for the ancient Chinese exhibit. A quick look at Sherlock and we silently agreed that this wasn’t a coincidence. The exhibit was filled with Chinese statues, paintings, and a case with ancient tea sets. A curly haired young man stood staring at the case. His left hand was blank.

“Andy?” I guessed.

The man looked up. “Hello, how can I help you?”

Sherlock handed over the envelope. Andy’s expression became instantly sober and worried. “Did you find her?”

Sherlock shook his head. “When was the last time you saw her?”

Andy didn’t seem to notice Sherlock’s slight hoarseness. “Three days ago, here at the museum. This morning, they told me she’d resigned, just like that. Just left her work unfinished.”

“What was the last thing she did on her final afternoon?” I asked.

Andy led us down two flights to the subbasement. Rows upon rows of storage cabinets lined the room. “She does this demonstration for the tourists, a tea ceremony. So she would have packed up her things and just put them in here.”

He began to move the cabinets to get to the correct one. I made to help him when I felt…something through the bond. I turned around the find Sherlock staring at a statue with a splash of yellow on its face and chest: the cipher.

We took our leave after that, promising Andy that we’d find this woman he so obviously had a crush on.

“We have to find Soo Lin Yao,” I said as Sherlock lead the way into the dark of night. The ‘if she’s still alive’ went unsaid.

“Sherlock!”

We turned to see a scruffy young man jogging towards us.

“Found something, Raz?”

The man nodded, and we followed him to graffiti filled skate park. A few teens were doing tricks with their bikes.

“If you want to hide a tree, then a forest is the best place to do it, wouldn’t you say, John?”

I nodded. “People would just walk straight past not knowing, unable to decipher the message.”

Raz pointed to a wall. “There. I saw it earlier.”

The wall was covered in graffiti of all sorts of colors and messages. But underneath several was the familiar yellow from the cipher.

Sherlock glanced back at Raz. “And that’s the exact same paint?”

Raz nodded.

“John, if we’re going to decipher this code, we’re going to need to look for more evidence.”

I groaned. I was getting tired, and I could feel that Sherlock was too. But Sherlock and I split up to search for more evidence.

The area around the skate park was filled with train tracks and tunnels, so there was a lot of surface area to cover. For an hour, I discovered no trace of the yellow paint. I was walking down a set of train tracks, tired down to my bones, about to give up, when I saw it. I shined my torch on the yellow spot which gave way to a whole wall full of ciphers. I backed up, took a quick picture with my phone and emailed it to myself. I started to dial Sherlock’s mobile when I heard a crunch. I spun towards the noise, my hand automatically going to where my gun would have been, but I hadn’t brought it with me. I felt a sharp pain in my head and then black...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor John's Head! Twice in one day! :(
> 
> New Rules of the Lost and Found Universe:  
> -Bonds cannot be forced. I.E. - rape cannot lead to a full bonding.  
> -Bonds cannot be broken. They can fade, but they cannot be broken.  
> -Death rates of one mate if the other dies:  
> -no bond (haven't touched, met yet): 15% chance of spontaneous cardiac arrest at moment of mate's death.  
> -initial bond (have touched, have not had sex): 75% chance of spontaneous cardiac arrest at moment of mate's death.  
> -complete bond (have had sex, completed bond): 100% chance of spontaneous cardiac arrest at moment of mate's death (i.e. - if one dies, the other dies at the exact same moment)  
> -Due to the death rates of unbonded people, people who have not met their mate are not allowed to work in situations where people are deathly ill/may die. This includes Emergency Rooms, Hospice Care, ICUs. No one wants to meet their mate for the first time while the mate is on their death bed.  
> -Soldiers of any sort often do not complete their bond until there is no chance of them going back into combat. If John had met Sherlock before he went to war, he would have been reluctant to completely bond for Sherlock's safety.  
> -Bonding Marks cannot be faked. For some reason, no marks except the mating mark can be made on the left-hand ring finger. Sherlock spent a large part of his teen years trying unsuccessfully to scribble on or make some mark on his left ring finger. The ink/dirt/etc. just disappears instantly. Sherlock has done experiments to try and see where the ink/dirt/etc. goes, but has so far been unsuccessful.


	6. Double Concussion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terribly sorry for the delays in this chapter. I just graduated from college on the 12th, and I'm taking my Xray tech Registry on the 25th, so I've been a bit busy. Also, job searching. I'm not making any promises on when the next chap will be up, but I'll try to not take AS long.  
> ~Stef

I woke to pain, panic, and someone gently slapping my face.

“John, I can feel you waking up, please open your eyes!”

I cracked open my eyes for a split second to see Sherlock’s blurry face hovering over mine. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure. I felt elatement that you had found something, and then sharp pain and nothing. I couldn’t feel you John!”

I took deep breaths in an attempt to stave off the nausea. How had I gotten here? I remembered searching the train tracks for the yellow paint, but I couldn’t remember anything else after that.

“John, I need to get you to hospital. You have a head wound and most likely a concussion.”

I groaned as he helped me into a sitting position. He dropped his torch on the ground, lighting up the black brick wall behind him. “I already had a concussion. Does this mean I have a double concussion?” I giggled.

“Don’t stand up to fast, John, you’ll…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I came to myself next, I found myself sitting on a bed with a doctor shining a very bright light into my eyes. I immediately recoiled. Gentle hands stopped me from falling off the bed.

The torch shut off. “Good of you to finally join us, Mr. Watson.”

Despite the pain in my head, I narrowed my eyes at the doctor. “It’s Dr. Watson.”

He waved off my comment. “Yes, well. _Doctor_ Watson, you have a severe concussion. I’ll send a nurse in to stitch up your head wound.”

Sherlock watched the doctor leave the room. “As soon as you get stitched up, I’m checking you out AMA.”

“Why?”

Sherlock continued to stare at the doctor, intense disdain floating through the bond. “Your doctor is cheating on his bonded.”

My mouth dropped open. Cheating on your bonded was no longer illegal in most countries, but it was still socially unacceptable. Why anyone would go throw away a relationship with the person nature (or God, or whatever higher power you believed in) had paired you with was beyond me. Cheating was rare, but people found to be doing it often lost everything: their bonded, their job, their children, etc. No barrister would ever represent anyone who was cheater. It would be suicide.

I was startled out of my mental dialogue by a petite blonde nurse bustling in, stitching supplies in hand. “Hello, Dr. Watson. I’m Nurse Marilyn. I’m just going to get that nasty wound cleaned up and glue it back together. Sound like a plan?”

I nodded vaguely, watching as Sherlock left the room, phone already at his ear. As much as Mycroft annoyed Sherlock, having him as a brother came in handy sometimes. Hopefully we’d be home within the hour.

I winced as the nurse cleaned out my wound. “Your mate was in a right state when you came in. He said that this was the second knock on the head you got in the past couple days. He’s the reason we got you into CT so quickly.”

“I don’t remember having a CT.”

“Retrograde and antegrade amnesia is common after head injuries. It’ll pass soon.”

I tried to hold still as she put the cold Dermabond on. Her hand passed through my field of vision. The completed bonding mark had a violet band in the center. “Your mate has pretty eyes.”

The nurse’s movement stuttered, so slight that if she hadn’t been touching me, I wouldn’t have noticed it. “Yes, she does.”

I closed my eyes as she finished up. No wonder Sherlock wanted to check me out AMA. My nurse and my doctor were cheating on their bonded with _each other_. I heard the nurse take her things and leave. The door opened again and someone touched my shoulder. I already knew it was Sherlock when I opened my eyes. He held out a patient belonging bag.

“Ready to go?”

I nodded gently. Sherlock moved to help me get up and dressed. I tugged off the horrid hospital gown that I had been put in and slipped back into my dirty jumper and jeans. I fished back into the bag for my phone and came up empty. A look at Sherlock had a feeling of...something…floating through the bond.

He held up a bag of crushed metal and plastic. “Your attacker took your sim card and smashed it and the phone. I’m sorry John. If it’s any consolation, I’ve already ordered you a new one.”

I shrugged. “The phone was second hand, and I didn’t live out of it like you do yours. Let’s go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was nearly 4am by the time Mycroft’s black town car dropped Sherlock and I off at home. Our combined exhaustion made climbing the stairs of our flat a huge ordeal. When we got to the top, we could do nothing but flop onto the couch.

“You scared me tonight,” Sherlock murmured, his fingers carding through my hair.

“I didn’t mean to.” I smashed my face into his blue silk shirt, inhaling his scent. It was comforting.

I wanted nothing more than to fall asleep like this, but the film of sweat and dirt urged me to sit up and trudge to the shower. I shed my dirty clothes and stood in front of the mirror. My head wound wasn’t as serious as I thought, though it still wasn’t pretty. The 3 inch long gash spread from just above my right ear to the middle of my forehead. The purple Dermabond stood out starkly against my pale face and I sighed. I couldn’t shower until at least tomorrow, when the glue was dry. A noise at the bathroom door made me start. Sherlock stood there, something held in his outstretched hand. I took it and smiled.

“I nicked it from the nurse’s station. I knew you’d want to shower as soon as we got back here.”

I opened the packaging and peeled off the backing, carefully placing the plastic over my wound. Sherlock must have learned this trick of using sterile port coverings with Dermabond via our bond.

Sherlock shed his clothing as well, turning on the taps and stepping in ahead of me. He held out his hand and helped me in. Our shower was quick and to the point. Neither of us had any energy for it to be anything else.

I soon found myself clad in pajamas and in the arms of my consulting detective. His hand found my hair again, as if the action soothed him. It certainly soothed me.

“’Lock?”

“Hmmm?”

“We should bond.”

The stroking stopped. “John, as much as I’d love to, you aren’t it the best condition to do so.”

I gave a huff of laughed. “Not now, you prat. But soon.”

The stroking resumed. “After the case.”

I smiled. “It’s a date.”


	7. New Emotions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I am finally graduated from college, have taken and passed my boards, and am a certified X-ray Tech! Yay! Now I just need to find a job. Which is a considerably more difficult task. So in the meantime, I hopefully will get some writing done! Please continue to give me feedback, kudos, bookmarks, and subscribes! I love hearing from you all and knowing that people are enjoying something I have (at least partially) created.  
> ~Stef, R.T. (R)

“john.”

There was noise and emotion at the edge of my consciousness. I dismissed it.

“John.”

A rush of excitement so intense it made my head hurt.

“John!”

I reluctantly opened my eyes and glared at Sherlock, who was partially hovering above me. He was practically shivering with excitement.

“Sherlock, please tone down the volume and the excitement. My head is killing me.”

I felt the excitement dip to a manageable level. “John, you are a genius!”

I paused in pulling the covers over my head. “As lovely as it is to hear that, did you really need to wake me up _now_ to tell me that?”

Sherlock held out my computer. I rolled my eyes. As soon as we were completely bonded, I was putting strong mental shields around my passwords. Not that it would do much, as Sherlock was likely to deduce them.

I took my computer and saw that my email account was pulled up. “What am I looking at here?”

Sherlock pointed. An email from…me? Why would I send myself an email? I clicked on it and a picture appeared. Suddenly everything clicked into place.

“I remember now. I saw this last night and took a picture. I thought it would be easier to print out if I sent it to a computer, so I emailed it to myself.” I glanced up at the joyous Sherlock. “Looks I was helpful after all.”

I handed back the computer. Sherlock kissed me gently on the head, mindful of my wound.

“Go back to sleep, John. Sweet dreams.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I woke next, it was evening. I threw on Sherlock’s blue silk robe and trudged out into the kitchen to make tea. The flat was empty. Stretching of the bond told me that Sherlock was across town, probably hunting down Soo Lin.

Tea done, I took my mug and flipped on the sitting room light. The picture I had taken the night before had joined the other cipher pictures on the mirror. Sherlock had written all of the numbers underneath each cipher, but otherwise, there was no obvious progress.

I pulled the ottoman over and sat in front of the mirror, peering at the new image. All the numbers were in pairs. The artist had left the message in a place that trains often passed. He must have been trying to get information on whatever was stolen from him. The answer was in this code.

I was feeling stale after sleeping all day, so I finished off my tea and climbed into the shower. I was rinsing my hair when I felt it. A mixture of sorrow/frustration/confusion crept through the bond, something I had never felt from Sherlock before. The emotions were getting stronger, so Sherlock was one his way back here. I quickly finished and got dressed.

I had just pulled on my jeans when I heard the front door open and close. I headed out into the sitting room to find Sherlock lying on the couch, a peculiar look on his face.

“Soo Lin is dead.”

Sherlock nodded his head, still staring at the ceiling. “She had been hiding in the museum. I found her and talked to her. Showed her the cipher. But before I could get her to decrypt it, the murderer, Zhi Zhu, showed up. I tried to catch him, but he got Soo Lin anyway.”

I went and sat on the floor next to Sherlock’s head. His hands were trembling.

“Zhi Zhu was her brother. He killed her because she wouldn’t help him find the missing item.”

He suddenly turned and looked at me, his eyes wild. “John, I’ve never felt this before; this sadness. It’s…overwhelming and confusing.”

I urged Sherlock into a sitting position and sat in his lap, facing him. I held him until the trembling subsided. It took me a while to notice that the comforting touches I had been giving Sherlock had passed from ‘comforting’ into ‘arousing’. I shuffled further into his lap, tilting my pelvis forward. Sherlock groaned and laid his head on my shoulder.

“John Watson, you are a very bad man.”

I smirked and kissed him. He rocked his hips forward, bringing our groins together, before pushing me back and off his lap. I frowned.

“John, you still aren’t in the proper shape for this. I don’t want to set back your healing any. Besides, I need to go prove to Dimmock that these murders are related. Care to join me?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

I felt a bit sentimental as Sherlock and I drug Dimmock to St. Bart’s morgue. Several weeks ago, visiting this place had changed my life forever. I let out a tiny sigh of content.

Sherlock easily lead the way down into the basement of St. Bart’s, indicating he came here often. A petite young woman in a lab coat was waiting inside the morgue, two body bags lying out on the slabs. Her brown hair was done up in a bun and her makeup looked like it had been hastily applied.

“John, why don’t you go sit down next to Molly. We shouldn’t be long.” He paused. “I should warn you that Molly has had a crush on me for as long as I’ve known her.”

I took a seat off to the side as Molly went to open the body bags. She came back to stand by me as Sherlock and Dimmock bickered.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Dr. Molly Hooper, but please call me Molly. Nasty head wound you’ve got there. ” She held out her hand.

I took it. “Dr. John Watson, but please call me John. And I got clobbered last night helping Sherlock with a case.”

She smiled. “How do you know Sherlock, John?”

“I’m Sherlock’s mate.”

I watched as her eyes widened and the smile melted off her face. Poor girl.

“O-oh. I wasn’t aware S-sherlock had found his mate.”

“We only met a few weeks ago. Here, in fact. Upstairs in one of the labs. Mike Stamford introduced us.” I held out my left hand as proof.

“John! Ready to go?”

I nodded and stood, trying not to sway. Sherlock put a guiding hand at my back.

“Oh, and Molly? Thank you for taking time out of your day to assist us. I greatly appreciate it.”

The girl blinked in surprise. “O-oh, well, you are very welcome, Sherlock.”

As we left the morgue, Molly gave me a tiny smile.


	8. Work and Frustration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAI. Long time, no see. I've been busy applying for jobs and such. Actually had an interview at a local children's hospital last friday, so hopefully I get that job. Please keep bookmarking, leaving kudos, and leaving comments. I really enjoy hearing from you!

I woke to the sound of the doorbell. Groaning, I fumbled for my new phone to check the time. The new phone had been sitting on the kitchen table when we returned home last night. It had all of my contacts preloaded and had a red case to differentiate it from Sherlock’s. Mycroft might be creepy, but he was helpful.

It was just half past 7. I wasn’t due into work until 9. I pulled myself out of bed as I listened to the sounds of heavy footsteps on the stairs. Sherlock’s emotions flickered between excitement and annoyance, so the people were probably from the Yard.

By the time I had completed my morning ablutions and gotten dressed in a button down and jean trousers, the flat was silent except for Sherlock’s muttering. I found the man in question puttering around the sitting room, which was stacked full of crates.

“What’s this then?” I asked, handing Sherlock a mug of tea. He took it gratefully.

“Before she died, Soo Lin told me that the cipher was a book cipher. Obviously, Lukis and Van Coon must have had the corresponding book to the cipher. So I had the Yard take all of the books from each of their apartments. Any common books are potential cipher solvers.”

I glanced at the crates that crowded the room. “Good luck with that.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at me over his mug. His eyes quickly raked up and down my body, and fought the urge to shiver. “Your first day of work at the surgery is today.”

I nodded. I can feel a shred of unease from Sherlock, so I leaned down and kissed him. The unease faded.

“Sarah didn’t say how long she’d need me today, so hopefully I won’t be gone all day. That way I can help you with the books.”

“How’s your head?”

My hand automatically rose to my wound. “Better, but I suspect that I’ll develop a headache later on today. Another reason she doesn’t keep me all day.”

I kissed Sherlock and headed to work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

 

I made it through 3 pregnancy checks and a 20 week check up before my headache forced me to take a break. It had been building since I got here, from the moment Sarah’s shrill gasp at my wound met my ears. Sherlock’s book adventure was not going well. His frustration had been growing all morning and making everything I was feeling worse.

I knocked on Sarah’s office door. I heard a faint ‘come in’.

“Hey Sarah, do you have a paracetamol I can borrow?”

She did a double take when she looked up at me and made me sit down. “John, you look awful. I think it’s going to take a bit more than a paracetamol to make you feel better.” She glanced at her schedule. “You’ve only two more scheduled patients for the day, but I can take care of them. Go home, John. Call me when you are better. And try to keep yourself and your mate out of dangerous situations.”

I would have rolled my eyes if it didn’t hurt. “Yeah, that’s a bit difficult, but I’ll try.”

She flashed me a smile as I left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time I returned to Baker Street, Sherlock’s frustration has melted into the gentle buzzing I associated with sleep. Sure enough, I found Sherlock lying on the floor in the middle of the sitting room, the boxes of books surrounding him like a castle. I whipped out my new phone and managed to take a picture of this adorable sight before Sherlock woke up.

I sat down heavily in my chair, which is thankfully empty. I closed my eyes, but the faint glow of a computer has me opening them again. Sherlock’s laptop sat atop one of the unopened boxes. I crept silently over and retrieved it. It was currently displaying an auction website.

“Every single trip Lukis or Van Coon took to China coincides with a Chinese relic sold by an anonymous source at Crispian’s auction.” Sherlock’s voice floated up from the floor. I glanced back at him, but he was still lying on the floor, eyes closed. He must have felt my curiousity.

“So what if one of them got greedy when they were in China? What if one of them stole something? That’s why Zhi Zhu’s come.”

Sherlock made a humming noise as he sat up, ruffling his hair. “How’s your head, John?”

I rubbed my temples, trying to ease my headache. “Throbbing. Your immense frustration all day didn’t help. I take it you haven’t found _the_ book?”

Sherlock hopped to his feet, disappearing into the kitchen for a moment. He returned with a glass of water and two paracetamol pills. “I apologize for increasing your pain.”

I took the pills and pulled him down next to me in the chair. “You couldn’t have known. It’s not your fault. I’m going to lie down.”

“John, if you’re feeling better later, I have something I’d like to go to tonight.”

“What’s that?”

“The circus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone would like to try and draw a picture of Sherlock asleep by the crates, I would love it. I'd draw it myself, but my artistic ability is limited to stick figures.  
> ~Stef


	9. The Yellow Dragon Circus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hai. So, as I've mentioned before, this is my least favorite episode, so writing about it has been rough. I did it though! Woo! I hope you enjoy, bookmark, kudoes, and comment. I enjoy hearing from you all.  
> ~Stef

The Yellow Dragon Circus was housed in an old theatre in Chinatown. The outside of the building had been decorated for the occasion with Chinese Lanterns, which lead to the front door.

“The Yellow Dragon Circus. Only in town for one day,” Sherlock commented, as we stood in line at the box office. “The Tong sent an assassin to England. We’re looking for a killer who can climb, who can shim up a rope. Where else would you find that level of dexterity?”

I nodded. “Exit visas are scarce in China. They’d need a pretty good reason to get out of that country. What better way than with a travelling circus.”

“All I need to do is have a quick look around the place.”

I sighed, pulling Sherlock towards the performance room. “At least watch it for a bit. We both deserve a break.”

We entered an enormous room. People were standing outside of a circle made of candles. A gong played in the background. “Sherlock, this isn’t a circus. This is…art.”

“John, just remember that this is not their day job.”

I rolled my eyes, looking about the crowd as we waited for the performance to start. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a familiar face.

“Sarah! What are you doing here?”

She jumped. “John, hi! How’s your head?”

“Feeling much better after a nap. What brings you to the circus?”

“I bought tickets for me and my friend Leslie, but she’s laid up with the flu, so I decided to come alone. What about you?”

I felt Sherlock appear at my shoulder, a wave of jealousy in his wake. He stuck out his hand. “Hello. I am Sherlock Holmes, John’s mate. You must be Sarah. John and I are here for…research purposes.”

Before Sarah could respond, a drum started playing, drawing everyone’s attention to the circle. A woman appeared, dressed in traditional Chinese garb. She uncovered the large item off to the side in the circle, revealing an impressive looking crossbow, ready to fire. The woman produced a heavy looking arrow, showing it to the audience. She loaded the arrow carefully into the bow, then removed one of the feathers from her large headdress. She dropped the feather into a metal bowl at the end of the bow and the arrow shot across the room, hitting a wooden board.

Sarah gasped. I looked over to see her clutching her hand to her chest, laughing. While everyone applauded, I felt Sherlock’s jealousy spike, and he wound his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. I rolled my eyes.

The appearance of a masked and armor-covered man brought our attention back to the center. Two men in black started to shackle him to the board where the first arrow hit.

“Classic Chinese escapology act,” Sherlock murmured, loud enough for Sarah to hear as well. “Crossbow’s on a delicate string. The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires.”

The woman loaded another arrow into the crossbow, just as the warrior’s bonds were finished. She produced a dagger, which she used to stab a sandbag attached to a weight near the ceiling.

“She splits the sandbag, the sand pours out. Gradually the weight lowers into the bowl.”

The audience watched with baited breath as the warrior struggled to escape his bonds. At the very last second, he finished and threw himself to the floor, narrowly avoiding getting skewered with the arrow.

Sarah gasped in relief, but Sherlock remained unmoved. I could tell he was enjoying himself though. The jealousy had simmered down, revealing happiness.

“I’m going to search backstage,” he murmured in my ear. I nodded as he walked back to the front of the theatre.

Sarah noticed. “Where’s he off to?”

“He gets bored easily,” I said airily. “He’s probably playing with his phone in the lobby.”

Our attention was brought back to the middle as the ‘Chinese bird spider’ began his aerial silk act. I felt Sherlock’s curiosity, then suddenly I felt the telltale emotions of fighting.   I groaned.

“John, are you alright?”

I nodded. I saw the curtains on the stage behind the circle flutter a second before Sherlock was thrown through them, landing hard on the floor. The armored warrior from earlier jumped out after him, armed with a sword. I ran to Sherlock’s aid, pushing the warrior out of the way. To my surprise, Sarah appeared on my right, hitting the warrior over the head with one of the heavy bolt arrows until he was knocked out. Sherlock scrambled to his feet, pulling one of the warrior’s slippers off, revealing the mark on the warrior’s heel. He threw the shoe down, and we rushed out of the performance hall.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a quick stop at the Yard to relay our findings to a very unhappy Dimmock, Sarah, Sherlock, and I made it back to the flat. I wasn’t exactly clear on why Sarah had followed us here, but I suspected it was mostly out of lack of answers about earlier.

“They’ll be back in China by tomorrow,” I said, offering Sarah a chair and sitting down in another. The adrenaline of earlier had faded, and that on top of Sherlock’s irritation of lack of progress was making my head throb.

“No, they won’t leave without what they came for,” Sherlock disagreed, tossing his coat on one of the crates of books. “We need a hideout, a rendezvous. Somewhere in this message it must tell us.”

“Well, I should probably leave you two to it,” Sarah said.

Sherlock made to open his mouth, but I shot him a glare. “You did help us out tonight. The least we can offer you is dinner.”

Sarah smiled. “Well, I am starving.”

Sherlock turned back to the cipher images with a huff. I headed into the kitchen to see if we had anything edible. When the answer turned out to be no, I headed to the bathroom, snagging a paracetamol.  

I returned to the kitchen to see Mrs. Hudson. She set a covered tray down on the kitchen table.

“I’ve done punch and a bowl of nibbles,” she whispered.

I kissed her on the cheek. “Mrs. Hudson, you’re a saint. Thank you.”

I was about to bring the tray out when Sherlock shouted my name in excitement. I went into the sitting room to find him ripping open an evidence bag, Sarah standing off to the side.

“Soo Lin, at the museum, she started to translate the code for us. I didn’t see it.” He turned the picture of the cipher over until the written words were upright. “Nine Mill…nine million quid, for what? We need to know the end of this sentence.”

Sherlock threw his coat and scarf back on, shaving the cipher picture in his pocket. “Where are you going?”

“To the museum, to the restoration room. I must have been staring right at it.”

“At what?”

“The book, John. The book, the key to cracking the cipher. Soo Lin used it to do this. While I was chasing the man at the gallery, she started to translate the code. It must be on her desk.” He pecked me on the cheek before disappearing down the stairs.

I sighed, turning to Sarah. “Shall we get a takeaway?”

She nodded, and I quickly made the call. While we waited, I offered her some of the punch Mrs. Hudson has brought up.

“Is he always like this?” Sarah asked while we waited.

I nodded. “While on a case, Sherlock only has one mode: Go. Before we met, he didn’t even eat while on a case. I’ve changed that.”

The doorbell rang. “Blimey, that was quick.”

I dashed down to the front door. A man in a hoodie stood on the stoop. “How much do I owe you?”

“Do you have it?”

I paused from retrieving my wallet. “What?”

“Do you have the treasure?”

Cold crept up my spine. “I don’t understand.”

I tried to duck the sudden blow, but soon familiar darkness claimed my mind.


	10. The Jade Pin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Almost done with this story! Then I can move onto the next. There is one chapter remaining, and yes it contains the bonding, and therefore Pr0n. Not sure if that'll be easier or harder to write. Aaaannyways, enjoy, bookmark, comment, subscribe, and give me kudos. I love feedback!
> 
> ~Stef

I really needed to stop getting hit in the head.

I woke to pain in my left temple and aching in my bad shoulder. The latter was due to my hands being handcuffed behind the chair I was sitting in. I tugged on the handcuffs and was rewarded with my left shoulder dislocating. Only my military training kept me from crying out. My shoulder dislocated a couple times a year due to my gunshot wound there.

To get my mind off the pain, I tapped into both my military training and Sherlock’s deduction skills to examine the room I was in without opening my eyes and letting them know that I was awake. It was cold and drafty, and I could hear the faint sound of a train, so probably in an abandoned Underground tunnel. I heard hitched breathing next to me. My stomach sank as I realized that it was most likely Sarah, caught in the crossfire of this case. The crackling of the fire failed to cover up the sounds of at least 3 people speaking Chinese.

I reached out through the bond to find Sherlock nearby. He seemed worried, but also preoccupied, as if he was speaking to another person. He wasn't actively irate or irritated, so I guessed that it was Lestrade.

I opened my eyes as little as possible. Sarah was in a chair a few feet to the left of me, hunched over but awake. There was a large covered object across the room, and I gulped at its familiarity. I sent Sherlock my best danger/warning/distress through the bond so that he’d be prepared for the worst.

I fully opened my eyes and was immediately approached by one of the three. I recognized her as the woman from the circus. She was dressed in all black and holding a gun at her side.

“I am Shan, leader of the Tong.”

I blinked up at this tiny woman. “ _You_ are?”

Her grip tightened on her gun. “Indeed. So where is my treasure?”

“I honestly have no idea. Sherlock and I never managed to solve your cipher, so we don’t even know what it is.”

Shan pointed her gun at my face. “I find it hard to believe that **THE** Sherlock Holmes couldn’t figure this mystery out. We left him an awful lot of clues.”

I leaned as far back from the gun as my bindings and shoulder would allow. “I know nothing. I promise!”

The gun didn’t waver. “I realize this. But surely your mate knows more than he’s letting on. Call him here.”

I stared. “We only have a partial bond. We only share emotions. That’s it.”

She smirked. “Which is why we brought this.”

She gestured behind herself with her free hand, and her lackeys uncovered the crossbow from the circus. “Nothing brings a person running like their mate in danger. However, my employer hardly wants the famous Mr. Holmes dead, so…” A flick of her fingers had the crossbow pointed at Sarah.

“Now, Mr. Watson, is this enough to get Sherlock Holmes here, or should I have them puncture the sandbag?”

“No need, as I’m already here.”

Everyone whirled towards Sherlock’s voice. The man in question casually strolled around the brick wall a ways away from where I currently was, tossing something up in the air and catching it deftly. It glinted in the firelight.

“Admittedly, it did take me a while to solve the cipher. Van Coon was the one who stole your precious jade pin. Instead of being driven by greed, he was driven by love. He had fallen in love with his PA and given it to her as a gift. She had no idea, of course. I suppose your employer would like this back? Moriarty, I suppose?”

Shan’s face stayed blank, gun pointed at me. She watched as Sherlock tossed up the pin again. I caught movement near the brick wall. Lestrade’s graying mop appeared for a second, quickly ducking to hide again. It appeared that Sherlock had a plan.

“Give me the treasure, Mr. Holmes.”

Sherlock smirked. “If you insist.”

He threw the pin in a high arc towards. Shan and her lackeys watched it come towards them, but three rapid gunshots rang out. I winced as the loud sounds bounced off the limited space in the tunnel, nearly deafening me. Shan and her lackeys were on the ground, dead. The pin had landed behind them. I looked back towards the brick wall and spotted Lestrade and two other men. They started hurrying over.

Sherlock appeared in front of me, concern leaking through the bond and plain on his face. “John, are you alright? I felt you dislocate your shoulder, but otherwise are you ok?”

I nodded. “My head hurts a bit, but I think they only hit me hard enough to knock me out temporarily. I wouldn’t say no to being uncuffed, though.”

Sherlock went behind me to pick my handcuffs open. Lestrade was doing to same to Sarah, who looked like she was in shock over the whole situation. I groaned in pain and relief as my hands were uncuffed. I brought my left arm up and tucked it into my side to minimize movement until I got a sling to put it in.

“So how did you find the pin?” I asked as Sherlock helped me stand.

Sherlock just chuckled, going to pick the item up off the floor. He brought it back over and held it up. It was green and gold, but looked scuffed, as if it had been used on a regular basis. In fact, it looked familiar.

“Did you really just fake out a Chinese mob boss with one of Mrs. Hudson’s hair pins?”

Sherlock laughed, and I joined him as we headed to the hospital to get my shoulder fixed.


	11. Completing the Bond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the horrid delay. I just wanted to make this chapter perfect.  
> On another note, Sherlock Series 3 premiered in America yesterday (on my 24th Birthday!!!!). The Empty Hearse was prefect and I'm planning on watching The Sign of Three after I post this chapter. 
> 
> Please subscribe to this series, as I'm currently working on the next story in the series, which will take place during the events of The Great Game. Also, bookmark and leave kudos and leaving comments!
> 
> ~Stef
> 
> P.S. - Anyone know how to post color text on here?

A week later, I found myself stretched out on a park bench, bathing in the afternoon sun. June had gifted London with weather that was sunny, warm, and lovely. I gingerly stretched my right arm. I had just returned from my check up with Sarah, who gave me the green light for bonding, gave me paid Bonding Week leave, and pushed me out the door. Upon returning to 221B, I was kissed on the head and told to stay out of the flat until I was summoned. Which is why I was currently sunning in the park.

My mental musings were interrupted by a happy scream. I opened my eyes and glanced over at the nearby playground. A 5 year old girl was swinging while her baby brother happily played in the sandbox. Their mothers sat hip to hip, watching them with smiles on their faces. The girl leapt off the swing midair, flailing her arms. I caught a glimpse of a circular birthmark on the inside of her wrist as she landed gracefully and ran over to her little brother. I smiled. That birthmark appeared only on children conceived during the completion of bonding. Bonding Children, or BCs, were uncommon as their parents had to have had a very strong bond. The mark was Mother Nature’s way of proclaiming to the world that that child was the product of something very great and special. I truly hoped that Sherlock and I’s bond was strong enough to have our own BC.

A gentle tugging on the bond had me heading home. As I opened the door to 221, the overwhelming and wonderful smell of curry hit me full-on. I followed my nose up the stairs to our flat. Sherlock greeted me with a hug at the door.

“Happy Bonding Day, John.”

I went on tiptoe to kiss him. “Happy Bonding Day, Sherlock. Did you cook?”

Sherlock smiled and waved a hand behind himself. “Find out for yourself.”

Sherlock stepped back to allow me to see. The whole flat had been thoroughly cleaned from top to bottom. So thoroughly that I was sure that I’d have to thank Mrs. Hudson later. The table had been wiped clean and was bereft of all Sherlock’s experiment remnants. Instead, a large serving dish filled with chicken curry and a plate of steaming naan sat on the table. There were even real plates instead of the usual dinner trays.

Sherlock pulled a chair out for me. I snorted, but sat. He sat on the other side of the table and made me a plate. The first bite was heavenly. It tasted just like Mum’s. I looked up to see Sherlock staring open-mouthed at me, his pupils dilated.

“What?”

Sherlock blushed and continued making his own plate. “You were moaning over the curry.”

It was my turn to blush. “Sorry, I haven’t had curry like this in a long time. Mum used to make it all the time, before Da died. How’d you know this was my favorite?”

Sherlock smiled and tapped his fingertips to his forehead. “I phoned your Mum and asked.”

I dropped my fork. “You called Mum?”

“Yes. She was quite surprised to hear you had found your mate.” A tendril of sadness snuck through the bond.

I reached over to put my hand over Sherlock’s, enjoying the electric bite along my skin at the contact. “Sher, the reason I hadn’t told my Mum about you is that she cannot keep a secret to save her life. Harry, my sister, recently had her bond fade due to her alcoholism. Me and her don’t get on well as it is, and I didn’t want Mum gushing to her about how I’d found you. That being said, I think that it’s very sweet that you would call my mum to find out what my favorite food is.”

We dug back into our food. “How do you feel about children, Sherlock?”

He made a humming noise as he finished his bite. “Before I met you, John, I could never see me having children with anyone. I’m sure you’re probably aware that I’m still a virgin. I have never had sex mostly because everyone before you was too dull, too mundane. But you, John, you’re intelligent and caring and everything I’ve needed in my life. I would be honored to have children with you.”

His sincerity leaked through to bond and I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt. “There’s a high chance that we’ll have a Bonding Child, Sherlock. I’d really like to carry our first, so is it alright if I bottom tonight?”

The rush of arousal through the bond nearly knocked the wind out of me. Sherlock’s eyes had gone dark. “Are you done eating, John?”

I barely had time to node before Sherlock was at my side, gathering me up into a bridal hold that had a tiny ‘eep’ escaping from my mouth. Sherlock carried me into the bedroom and gently laid me on the bed, devouring my mouth. He released my mouth and started tearing at our clothes, throwing them on the floor.

I hadn’t seen Sherlock naked before now. He was a tall, pale beauty. He wasn’t as skinny as I thought he’d be. I couldn’t help but feel a stab of pride at that. Getting Sherlock to eat regularly was one of my greatest accomplishments so far in this relationship. Sherlock’s cock jutted out from between his legs. It was thinner than my own, but longer. Perfect.

Sherlock grabbed a pump bottle of a fancy lube I’d never heard of. I spread my legs to give him more room and he began to slowly prepare me. For someone who had never had sex, he seemed to know what he was doing.

“Been doing research?” I gasped out as he added another finger.

He looked smug. “Perhaps.” He leaned over and swallowed the head of my cock down, causing me to spasm against the bed. He pulled off a second later.

“D-don’t do that again, or I won’t last.”

Sherlock chuckled and pulled his fingers out of me. He quickly slicked his cock up and lined himself up with me. “Ready, John Watson?”

I smirked at him. “Ready, Sherlock Holmes.”

He slid into me and it was the best feeling I’d ever experience. The electric feeling from our bond sprung along Sherlock’s cock inside me and I couldn’t help but moan. Sherlock echoed me as he started to move. I could feel our combined pleasure through our bond. This wasn’t going to last long.

Sherlock released his grip on my hips and moved his hands up to mine by my head. He bent down to kiss me just as we reached our combined climax.

It was like a bomb had gone off in my head and then the explosion had reversed, leaving new connections in its wake. So much new information flowed in, speeding along neurons and axons and it was all too much. I blacked out.

I came to with Sherlock lying on my chest and his cock still inside me. The sweat on our bodies had mostly dried, indicating we’d been out for a bit. The buzzing along our skin was muted, as if it was no longer important to the bond.

I mentally felt Sherlock wake up before he physically did, blinking down at me.

“ _Well that was interesting…_ ”

I snorted, and it seemed to startle him. “ _That is the understatement of the year. That was the best sex I’ve ever had._ ”

Sherlock pulled out of me gently and rolled off to the side, his head snuggling into the hollow of my shoulder. He picked up my left hand with his left, inspecting the new marks on our fingers. He hummed in approval.

I felt him start to poke around in my head, but I gently pushed him back. “ _You have plenty of time to do that, love. Let’s rest for now._ ”

“ _Happy Bonding Day, John_.”

“ _Happy Bonding Day, Sherlock_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • Although completing a Bonding only takes a short time (i.e. sex), a newly Bonded pair automatically get a week to themselves to explore their newly expanded mental connections and to set up mental barriers around things that they wish to keep secret. This week off is called Bonding Week, and those completing Bonds get paid leave during it.  
> • If a bond is strong enough during the bond completion, a child may be conceived. These children are called Bonding Children (BCs for short) and are relatively rare, as the bond between their parents must be very strong. These children are born with a circular mark on the inside of one wrist. Scientists think that it is Nature’s way of telling the world that that child was the product of something very great and special.
> 
> Link to Picture of John's Completed Bonding Mark: http://loonypants1.deviantart.com/art/John-s-completed-Mating-Mark-318447217


End file.
